


Nox Disputatio

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post Season 2, Reconciliation, Self-Harm, past trauma and abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: “Hail Lilith, full of disgrace.”Her voice is coarse and dark and reverent as her fingers slide the straps of her nightgown over shoulders that have grown thin and bony.“Cursed are you amongst women.”The freed silk slides lower, baring breasts and stomach.“And cursed is the fruit of thy womb.”
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Nox Disputatio

**Author's Note:**

> \- can be read as a stand-alone piece or as a continuation to Disputatio Diabolica  
> \- if anyone actually knows Latin please let me know the grammatically correct version of the title (Nocturnal  
> Conversations)  
> \- tw: self harm, past abuse

1

The stillness of night cracks open underneath the sharp edge of muffled screams. Like quiet spilling over into quiet or the slickness of sweat cooling agonising heat, it remains in a microcosm of its own. Spellman Mortuary continues to linger in silence. There is only the gleam of one light that flickers to life in otherwise profound darkness. Underneath its scrutiny her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. She runs her tongue over brittle lips and recoils. Musk stains her like an echo of his mouth, refusing to fade. It sits between her teeth like a reminder, like a warning, like the acrid after-taste of unbidden magic. Shame sits further down, lodged in her throat so she may never swallow around it.  
  
A forceful gag she stifles with the back of her hand, then she rises. In the dim light she appears ghostly pale, like a walking shell of bones and flesh. She kneels before the full-length mirror, quivering fingers finding the latch of a drawer nearby. She tugs. The scent of leather is thick in her nostrils, as familiarly comforting as it is repugnant. So is the weight of the whip in her palm. She squeezes it, or perhaps she merely clings to the sacred ugliness it represents. Salvation lying dormant in piercing shards of pain.  
  
“Hail Lilith, full of disgrace.”  
  
Her voice is coarse and dark and reverent as her fingers slide the straps of her nightgown over shoulders that have grown thin and bony.  
  
“Cursed are you amongst women.”  
  
The freed silk slides lower, baring breasts and stomach.  
  
“And cursed is the fruit of thy womb.”  
  
Her palm tenses around the whip, then sends it backwards in a salvo of lashes that bite into scar tissue and bruise her skin. Her lips part in a silent cry, as pain glistens like incandescent moisture between her lashes. She digs her knees deeper into the wooden floor.  
  
“Demons, you fled the garden where the weak ones dwelled.”  
  
She swings the whip again, her ears ringing with the sound of her own suffering.  
  
“And did not-“  
  
Her voice buckles suddenly and in the looking glass she can barely make out her own reflection. She is all but a smear of salt and blood. Watched by a thousand dark eyes.  
  
“And did not live in shame.” Another voice completes the prayer. It is bland and plain and striking.  
  
Zelda tries lifting her head to meet her gaze in the mirror but must first succeed in circumnavigating the illusion of his presence tucked away in the layers of glass.  
  
“Lilith.”  
  
She watches her rise from her bed without purpose, her eyes trailing with affected disinterest over her personal possessions as though she has seen it all before.  
  
“Tell me, Zelda, do you consider shame an offering worthy of a High Priestess?” Her red lips smack together, tasting her. “Do you think it would please me?”  
  
But she cannot answer. Her throat is thick and swollen shut, jammed with hopes and cravings she cannot possibly utter out loud.  
  
Lilith carelessly drifts closer until her warmth almost brushes up against her skin. “Have you forgotten already?” A tremulous hue of sadness to her tone that can only exist in this twilight.  
  
For a fleeting moment Zelda thinks she is going to touch her. Her fingers come close enough to whisper over the welts on her back like a caress, and yet…  
  
“I have lost my way.”  
  
“And so you are turning to another deity for guidance?”  
  
“It’s all I have,” she begs, “please.” _Help me!_

Lilith’s slender brows draw together, her tiredness ancient and ever-present. Centuries of suffering and persevering bleed from her eyes. Almost. She vanishes in a swirling mist of sulfur and mortality before they can, diminishing the last source of light and leaving Zelda alone in front of the towering mirror, staring back at her own pale reflection. Hungry for answers. Yearning to reconcile.


End file.
